


Sleight of Hand

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal, Citronshipping, Eloping, Explicit Sex, F/M, M/M, Marriage, Poison, Rishid is too good for the entire cast of yugioh so I gave him a sexy OC, Some Violence and Fighting, That's something you don't see every day in a Sita Fic, Thiefshipping, Typical Sita Ending, Verbal Consent, a brief m/w sex scene?, happy birthday kitty kaiba, long lost childhood friends to lovers, minor unamed character deaths, robinhoood troupe, thieves and assassins, tomb theif
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27619529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: Going to rob one of the richest nobles in Egypt, The Thief King recognizes the boy he used to play with at the market, only now they were both grown, and perhaps a friend and partner would be a greater treasure than gold or jewels.
Relationships: Rishid/OC, Thief King Bakura/Marik Ishtar
Comments: 40
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Kitty-Kaiba! Shadow-Chan commissioned this fic as a present for you several months ago. It was really hard not to talk about it in any of the chats you're in lol. I hope you enjoy it and have a great birthday!

The tops of the pomegranate, olive, and fig trees poked over the ridge of the stone wall. Bakura had cased the noble's estate so many times that the image gave him deja vu as he approached. He shook it away and curved towards the back where the trees were thickest and the guards couldn't see him. Bakura used a pomegranate tree for cover, sitting crossed-legged on a thick branch and enjoying the shade. He needed to wait until nightfall to complete his plan, but it’d be easier to pass the time on the grounds themselves. At night, the city guard kept a sharper eye out for stray travelers wandering too close to the noble’s estates. Waiting was something Bakura excelled at. He closed his eyes, dozing in the trees and enjoying the occasional breeze sifting through the branches. However, his quiet was interrupted by two voices and footsteps striking the garden paths. 

“See Mehen? Isn’t the garden lovely?” A woman in a long, fine linen dress asked as she walked. 

The sunlight caught the hair of her companion. The strands gleamed gold—not flaxen like the merchants from across the seas, but proper, god-worshipping gold. The color mesmerized Bakura. The sense of deja vu returned again, but this time it churned his stomach with memories just out of his grasp. 

Mehen frowned. 

“You know these gardens are beautiful, Isis, but I’ve counted the number of paces along the length, the width, the perimeter of the walls. It’s a pen to keep a prized gazelle. I don’t want to be a pet, sister.” 

“You’re not a pet.” Isis laughed. “You’re the heir to a great lineage. In a few years you’ll be able to take on some of the responsibilities at court and work beside Father. It’s a great honor.” 

“It’s worse than a death sentence.” Mehen glanced at the sky. 

As Mehen tilted his head, Bakura caught the bright, coriander bloom color of his eyes. The thief swallowed as an old memory dredged from the deepest part of his mind. A little boy with golden hair and lilac eyes running through the back alleys of the city, and Bakura chasing, always chasing the little brat. And if he caught him? The boy would shove him back and cackle maniacally. 

Bakura leaned forward, careful not to slip and give away his location. It was the same boy, now grown, Bakura was sure of it. A few nobles with distant family ties to the pharaoh had golden hair, but the pale purple eyes were rare. Bakura licked his lips. More than anything, he wanted to leap down from the tree, shove the spoiled brat into the mud, and laugh over him as payback for all their games of tag. 

“You’re being over dramatic.” Isis frowned. 

“Even a falcon trained for hunting needs to stretch his wings and fly from time to time, but I’m tethered to a garden I can circle in twenty minutes.” Mehen clenched his jaw. 

“Most have nothing more than the dirt of their fields. You’re spoiled to scoff at the gifts the gods have blessed you with.” 

A practiced smile stretched across Mehen’s face as he turned toward Isis. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Sister. I’ll try to be more grateful.” 

Bakura bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snorting out loud. The act was so obviously designed to diffuse the argument, but Isis returned a warm smile. 

“Yes. We should all strive to be more appreciative in life. Let’s go, Mehen. I’m sure lunch will be waiting for us.” 

“Lead the way.” Mehen nodded with his head, but as his sister walked back toward the manor, Mehen sighed and glanced at the sky again. 

The longing in his eyes was as fierce as the sunlight beating down and causing jewels of sweat to decorate Mehen’s temples. He turned and followed his sister before she lectured him for dawdling. The sheer linen clung to the curves of Mehen’s body as he walked. Bakura admired the shape of him as he walked away. 

_Mehen_. 

He never knew the boy’s name when they chased each other through the city. It was only a few times when his mother brought him to market. Kul Elna didn’t have too many kids Bakura’s age, so he had looked forward to the market trips. Bakura chewed on his nails. It was a bad habit his mother often scolded him for, but she never lived long enough to break him of the tendency. 

_Mehen_. 

A golden-haired noble dissatisfied with his pampered life of serving as one of the Pharaoh’s pets. Bakura wondered if he’d fancy a thief’s life more. In fact, he decided a golden-haired partner in crime might be a better treasure than the riches he’d originally come to steal. Smirking, Bakura leaned against the tree and waited until the stars scattered across the sky before slipping through the garden’s shadows and into the estate. He knew where the noble’s chambers were from his countless days of scouting for the treasure he’d wanted to steal, but he wasn’t sure which room was Mehen’s. 

With his hood up to keep himself hidden from the guards, Bakura climbed the wall to the second story of the manor. He held onto the window’s ledge and peeked over the sill. Inside, a large, older man sat and polished an impressive collection of khopesh swords and hunting sticks. Bakura decided to steer clear of _that_ one. He looked more intimidating than any of the guards around the premise. Fortunately, he had more luck with the second room he checked. 

Mehen sat on his bed, untangling his golden hair with a comb carved from lapis lazuli. Bakura slipped in through the window, pulled out his knife, and edged closer to Mehen. When he was in range, he slid the blade below the noble's jaw. 

“Don’t scream, and I won’t hurt you.” 

“You’ve a lot of nerve barging in here and making demands of me.” Mehen gritted his teeth, his grip on his comb tightening in anger. 

Good, he wasn’t a coward. Bakura didn’t need a partner who would faint at the first sight of blood. 

“And why shouldn’t I make demands of you? You’re nothing more than the Pharaoh’s pet.” 

The look Mehen shot toward Bakura was sharper than the edge of an obsidian blade. It made Bakura’s stomach grow warm and tight. He leaned closer, grinning. 

“I like you. You’ve got quite the defiant streak for a pet.” 

“The approval of scum like you doesn’t mean much.” Mehen glared at him. “Now are you going to kill me or can I finish getting ready for bed?” 

“Heh. Actually, I have a better idea…” 

Bakura straddled Mehen’s lap, noticing the way Mehen’s gaze kept flicking down to the shape of Bakura’s thighs caged around him. Mehen’s body tensed and his breathing grew shallow, but his voice didn’t waver when he spoke. 

“If you do anything I don’t agree to, you’ll lose half of any ransom you ask for me.” 

“So as long as I stick to things you _do_ agree to, we should be fine, yes?” Bakura chuckled, but Mehen gave him a serious stare. 

“That was the implication. Yes.” 

The fire in Bakura’s stomach flared, making him sweat. His change of plans originally involved merely absconding with a friend he had once chased through the city, but the building tension between them, though unexpected, was an interesting change of plans. 

“Truth is, I was thinking less kidnapping and more absconding.” 

“You...want me to _choose_ to run away with you?” Mehen scoffed. “You’re drunk.” 

“I’m not drunk.” Bakura scowled. 

“Then you’re crazy.” Mehen tossed a strip of hair off his shoulder, unafraid of the knife touching his skin. “I live like a prince here. Why would I go with a scruffy thief like you?” 

“You live like a prince.” Bakura teased the tip of the blade along Mehen’s collarbone. “But I live like a king—the King of Thieves, to be precise.” 

Mehen’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes rounded. Bakura grinned, pleased that his infamy reached even the pampered noble’s ears. 

“Prove it,” Mehen insisted. 

“Have you heard of the great beast the Thief King can summon?” Bakura raised an eyebrow, though he doubted Mehen could see it beneath the shadowy hood of his robes. 

“Yes. It’s supposed to rival the gods themselves.” 

In an instant of will, Diabound curled around Mehen’s bed. His white scales gleamed in the flax-oil lamp light, and a feather from his wings floated down. Mehen caught it, staring at it as if he half-expected it to disappear before he woke from a dream. 

“Why me? Why would the King of Thieves sneak into my room at night like some...stupid folk tale, and ask me to abscond with him?” 

“I heard you talking to your sister in the garden. You said a life serving at court was worse than a death sentence, and I think having a former noble as a partner will be incredibly useful. You can read and write, so you can forge documents. You know the layout of the palace, and those markings around your eyes tell me you know some magic as well.”

“And if I say no?” Mehen pressed his lips together, his expression a mask Bakura couldn’t read. 

“Then every time you steal twenty minutes for yourself to walk around your garden you’ll remember how you were offered freedom, but you turned it away.” Bakura shrugged. “That’s something you’ll have to live with, not me.” 

Mehen’s lap was growing warm beneath his weight. Bakura repressed the urge to squirm, instead watching Mehen’s face for a response. 

“Move. I can’t pack if you’re sitting on top of me like an oaf.” 

“As you wish.” Bakura stood and gave Mehen a mocking bow. 

“There’s something I need from another room. Stay here and don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.” 

“Where are you going?” Bakura frowned. 

“If you don’t trust me, we’ll make for poor partners.” Mehen glanced over his shoulder before disappearing out of his room. 

Bakura waited near the window in case Mehen brought an armed guard with him. Fifteen tense minutes passed before Mehen returned with a smirk on his face. 

“Well?” Bakura asked. 

“I stole my father’s seal.” Mehen flashed a marble carved stamp. “If I ever need to forge paperwork, this will give it more authority.” 

“I knew I liked you.” Bakura grinned. 

Mehen flitted about the room like a wild bird. He tossed things from chests, picking his favorite linens and perfumes to pack before running away. The room was quite wrecked by the time he finished packing. 

“They’ll think I kidnapped you judging from the mess.” Bakura scanned the room. 

“As far as my father’s concerned, it’s just another possession, not a son, stolen by a thief.” Mehen sneered in disgust. 

“What about your sister? She was bothersome, but seemed to care.” 

“Yeah...I’ll miss my brother and sister.” Mehen’s expression dropped. 

Bakura’s stomach clenched. He feared he blew the entire deal by reminding Mehen of his siblings, but Mehen’s jaw tightened and his posture straightened. 

“Nevertheless, I can’t bear one more day in this miserable palace. Let’s go.” 

Bakura bowed and offered a hand to Mehen. He took one of Mehen’s bags and helped him out the window. Mehen was agile and managed the climb down without complaint. 

“You’re pretty fit for a noble brat.” 

“Never lost a wrestling match against anyone except my older brother,” Mehen bragged as he jumped to the ground. “Maybe I’ll challenge you one day, see if I can best the King of Thieves.” 

“I might let you pin me down on purpose.” Bakura winked before slipping into the tall celery grass. 

“Where are you going?” Mehen pulled him in the opposite direction. 

“What are you doing? We can’t walk out the front gates. Let go.” 

“I’m not walking to whatever den you call home. We’re stealing a horse.” Mehen glanced at Bakura. “Do you have one? Or should we steal two?”

“My horse is sheltered in a stable on the edge of the city. Someone like me would look suspicious riding around town on a horse like some fancy noble.” Bakura snorted. 

“We’ll only steal one, then.” Mehen pursed his lips. “Put your knife to my throat again and threaten to kill me if the servants call the guards. That will give us a chance to escape before they chase us.” 

“This would be so much easier if we just walked through the city and shared my horse. We can steal another one for you later.” 

“Meresamun is a prize breed and better than any other horse we’ll find in all the upper Nile. I’m not leaving without her.” 

“Fine.” Bakura pulled his knife from his belt again and held it close to Mehen’s throat. “You asked for this.” 

“Well, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve had me in this position.” 

“I didn’t want you calling out to the guards.” 

“Be quiet. You’re supposed to be kidnapping me, not chatting about the finer details of the lack of thief etiquette.” 

“Why would thieves have etiquette?” 

“I said _shush_.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Bakura hissed, to have the last word, but he didn’t speak afterward. 

Only a young boy kept the stables, but he was pissing in the corner, and Mehen and Bakura mounted the horse and led her out before the boy could even turn around. Mehen urged her forward and they raced toward the front gate. 

“Do you trust me?” Bakrua asked. 

“I suppose I do—I’m running off with you, aren’t I?” Mehen leaned forward, urging the horse faster. 

“Then keep her cantering and don’t slow down!” Bakura cackled into the night sky. 

“But we have to have to guards open—”

“Trust me!” Bakura insisted. 

“Okay. Here we go!” 

Mehen urged Meresamun faster. The guards aimed their spears at the horse, ordering them to halt. A flash of light blinded them when Diabound appeared. Wrapped around the ka, they slipped through the gate like ghosts and kept careening through the city as fast as the horse could run. 

***

Mehen shouted as they sped beneath the star-dusted sky. Memories of sneaking away from the estate as a child raced through his head as they raced down the streets. He’d sneak to the markets, lured by the crowds and smells of street food. He always seemed to find the same boy each time he went. His skin was dark from spending his days outside, not the softer brown of Mehen’s skin from being locked inside a rich house and sheltered from the sun with pomegranate trees in the garden. He used to tease the boy and rile him up and lead him through the city, but when the boy caught him, Mehen never knew what to do—so he’d shove him to the ground and laugh. And still, the next time, the little boy from markets would chase him all over again. Besides his siblings, it was the only friend Mehen had ever had, but one day...he wasn’t in the market. Mehen searched everywhere but never saw him again. As the years passed, Mehen had to study more for his responsibilities at court, and couldn’t sneak away to the market anymore, and forgot all about his friend, but now he yearned to run and be chased like in those simpler, almost happy, times. 

But riding through the city with the King of Thieves holding onto him was also thrilling. Mehen sometimes fantasized late at night of being kidnapped by this very thief. His daydreams were always rough and fierce; he was rather surprised at how easy-going the thief actually was. No calloused hand in Mehen’s hair, no threats, no Mehen manipulating the thief to get what he wanted despite being at a disadvantage, only a scar-crooked grin, and pale eyes glittering like jewels as the thief offered Mehen his greatest desire as if it were a random fruit he’d plucked from the garden and had a mind to share. 

Bakrua tapped Mehen’s shoulder and he slowed the horse down as they neared the outskirts of the city. 

“There’s the stables. Let me get my horse and we’ll put some distance between us and the city before we camp for the night.” 

“Camp?” Mehen frowned. “Let’s ride straight to your hideout.” 

“Too far. We’ll camp for a few hours. Ride in the morning. Rest the horses mid-day when it’s too hot, and get to my lair the next evening.” 

Mehen didn’t like the idea of camping in the desert, but he supposed he’d chosen a thief’s life and now he was going to have to get used to it. Bakura disappeared and returned with his horse in a manner of minutes and they set out. He was sure the guards were searching for him, but he and Bakura were too quick and had an easy escape. Bakura veered off the main road and Mehen followed without protest. Three hours later, Bakura slipped between a cove of boulders jutting from the sand like teeth. Mehen saw a small watering hole tucked beneath one of the boulders. They watered their horses and rubbed the horses down before Bakura set out a pile of blankets and used magic to create a small campfire. 

“It gets cold at night.” Bakura patted the blankets he sat on. “We’ll have to share.” 

Mehen bit his lower lip. The thief’s face was hidden in shadows from his hood, but the way his eyes gleamed in the firelight reminded Mehen of his friend from the market. Mehen took a step backward. 

“Chase me.” 

“What?” Bakura laughed. 

“You’re the legendary King of Thieves, but how good are you really? Can you even catch a spoiled noble? Or are the guards simply incompetent?” 

“A little of both, I imagine.” Bakura continued to chuckle, but there was a yearning in his face that Mehen wanted to explore. 

“Prove it.” 

“Prove it?” Bakura stood. 

“Yes.”

“By chasing you like a couple of kids playing in the market?” He snorted, glancing away. 

Mehen’s heart skipped a beat. He was sure the simile was mere coincidence, but that was _exactly_ what Mehen wanted. The same joy, the same freedom, the same companionship he’d known when he used to be chased by a little peasant boy in the markets years and years ago. 

“If you think you can catch me.” Mehen sprinted through the sand dunes. 

The thief's cloak fluttered as he chased Mehen. He was fast, gloriously fast. Mehen pumped his legs and arms and zig-zagged, kicking sand into the air as he avoided the thief’s outstretched arms. They both laughed as they panted for breath. Mehen led a good chase, but he eventually tired and felt Bakura’s arms wrap around him. 

“You’re mine!” 

“Am I?” Mehen shoved Bakura to the ground, same as he always shoved his friend. He laughed, giddy at reliving his memories. 

Bakura landed on his ass, legs splayed comically into the air as he hit the sand. He rocked up, the force made the hood slip from his head. A tuff of silvery-white hair fell around his face, brighter than moonlight, wild, free...Mehen knew Bakura. 

“It’s you.” Mehen gasped. 

“Oh? Finally remember me?” Bakura grinned, his scar-crooked grin. 

“You bastard!” Mehen crashed on top of him and pounded at his chest. “Where have you been! It’s been years! Where have you been!” 


	2. Chapter 2

Bakura grabbed Mehen’s fists to keep him from punching. Mehen struggled, but Bakura kept hold. He bumped their foreheads together. Despite Mehen’s anger, Bakura couldn’t help but smile. 

“Miss me, did you?” 

“I looked for you. Day after day after day and you were just...gone.” 

“Sorry. My mother used to take me to market, but…” 

“But what?” 

“Remember the war?” Bakrua released Mehen, studying his face. 

“Yes.” Mehen settled, still straddled over Bakura, but no longer smacking him. 

Bakura swallowed. “My village was attacked. Razed to the ground. My mother hid me. I was...the only survivor.” 

“Gods…” 

“After that...well, there weren't any more trips to the market. I barely survived all alone.” 

“So you started stealing.” Mehen slipped to Bakura’s side. 

“And I was amazing at it.” Bakura forced a strained smile. “Figured the Pharaoh didn’t save us, so why should I care if I steal his shit?” 

“I’m sorry.” Mehen threw his arms around Bakura. 

“Thanks.” Bakura coiled his arms around Mehen in return. 

They held together for a comfortable, quiet minute. Mehen sighed, grinning. 

“So after all these years, I have my only friend with me again. I thought you abandoned me, but you came back to rescue me when I needed you most.” Mehen squeezed Bakura hard. 

“I didn’t realize it was your estate I’d planned to rob, but when I heard you talking to your sister in the garden, I decided you were worth stealing more than any treasure your father might be hoarding.” 

“I can’t believe you grew up to become the Thief King!” Mehen laughed, shoved Bakura to the ground again. 

Bakura dragged Mehen with him. They both laughed as they wrestled. Mehen was a champion wrestler among his peers, but Bakura managed to break all his holds and counter with his own. Mehen shoved him to the sand again, pinning Bakura’s wrists over his head. They stared at each other, breathing hard. Seeing Bakura spread on his back in the sand, flushed, panting, and bathed in moonlight made Mehen’s stomach jittery. 

“Told you I’d let you pin me down.” Bakura’s nose wrinkled when he grinned, and Mehen’s heart somehow pounded faster than when they’d wrestled. 

“You fool.” Mehen spat, not from any malice, but more because he didn’t know how to deal with his trembling nerves or the way the blood rushed to his prick as he stared at Bakura. Mehen walked to camp and slipped beneath the blankets Bakura set out for them. 

“Don’t hog all of those.” Bakura dug beneath the covers himself, staring at Mehen with a tense, burning stare. 

“I’m not. I’m only taking my half.” Mehen snorted. 

“Your half? Technically they’re all my blankets.” 

“When you invited me to become your partner, they became our blankets.” 

“Well, you’re still hogging them. Gimme.” 

“No. My back will be cold if you take more.” Mehen tugged the covers to keep himself covered. 

“But my butt is cold.” 

“It’s against the fire. At least that’s better than nothing.” 

“Still too cold.” Bakura flung his leg over Mehen’s hip and pulled their chests flushed together. “There. Now I’ll be warm all night long.” 

“A little close for comfort, don’t you think?” Mehen had to work on keeping his voice calm instead of letting it squeak out from his mouth. He was fully hard now, and aching to move against their close-wound bodies. 

“I think this is just close enough for comfort.” Bakura brushed their noses together. 

Mehen couldn’t suppress the needful gasp. His hand slid to Bakura’s waist and held him as they lay wrapped around each other. 

“Of course a rogue like you wouldn’t know the meaning of personal space.” Mehen snorted, desperate to regain his composure, but all those stupid, _stupid_ daydreams of being seduced by the King of Thieves kept haunting his imagination. 

“I promised to stick to acts you agreed to, so if this is too close—”

Bakura moved to give them space, but Mehen dug his fingers into Bakura’s hips to keep them tangled together. Bakura’s eyes widened, but lidded after staring at Mehen. Their noses brushed together again. Their lips parted, but didn’t connect. Mehen yearned for that first, electric, brush of lips on lips, but Bakura restrained himself. 

“Mehen?” 

“Yes, Bakura?” 

“Do...do you _want_ me to kiss you?” Bakura asked in a breathless voice. 

“Yes,” Mehen said. 

Bakura held the back of Mehen’s head to make sure he hit his mark. Their lips connected and dragged against each other. Moans escaped both of them. Mehen blushed, furious at how badly he wanted the kiss. He clawed at Bakura’s back, kissing deeper, almost until their lips bruised. Mehen only pulled away to tilt his head. 

“What’s this?” Bakrua traced his nose along the delicate curve of Mehen’s exposed skin. “Did you want me to kiss your neck?” 

“Yes.” Mehen rolled his hips against Bakura’s groin. 

Bakura hummed in pleasure at the gesture before diving closer and sucking at Mehen’s throat. Every nerve in Mehen’s body sang as the thief’s mouth drew against Mehen’s skin. The urge to rut was overwhelming. Mehen grabbed Bakura’s ass with one hand, the other still clinging to the back of his red robe. 

“Do you like when I do this?” Mehen asked in a thick voice as he rolled his hips in and up, dragging their clothed cocks together. 

“Yes,” Bakura gasped, kissing Mehen lower. “Want- _ahh_ -want me to kiss you even more?” 

“Fuck yes.” Mehen moaned as Bakura dragged his tongue along Mehen’s collarbone. 

Mehen’s hips circled in a lazy rhythm. Their kisses were sloppy and inexperienced, but they were too eager to slow down. Mehen pressed against Bakura’s cock again, wanting more friction between them. Bakura broke off their kisses with a gasp. He clung to Mehen, pressed his forehead against Mehen’s chest and matched Mehen thrust for thrust. 

“Think...this would be better...without all these pesky clothes?” Mehen tugged at Bakura’s shenti. 

Bakura only managed a whimper and he shoved Mehen’s shendyt up around his waist, not having the patience to unclasp the belt or pull the cloth away. Mehen managed to remove the sash from Bakura’s waist and tug the shenti away, but left his robes on in his hurry. They each wrapped a hand around their cocks, nudging their hot shafts together. Their grunts echoed in the night with crackling flames of their campfire. Bakura was the first to shudder. His brow wrinkled and he cried out in orgasm. The sight and sounds jolted pleasure through Mehen’s cock. He hitched more quickly, desperate to come, working his cock against Bakura’s while it was still hard enough to provide friction. Bakura winced, sensitive after coming, but only grabbed Mehen’s ass and jerked his hips to help drag Mehen over the edge and join him in the soft afterglow bliss. Mehen poured out over their hands. He panted hard and kissed Bakura’s sweaty temples. 

“Can’t believe...after all these years…” Bakura gasped as he caught his breath. “I have my best friend back.” 

“Those merchants thought we were trouble before. Now there'll be no end to our infamy.” Mehen grinned, nuzzling against Bakura’s soft, star-colored hair. 

***

The fire didn’t go out since it was magical, but Bakura still woke up stiff. He groaned; the memories of the night before flooded into his thoughts. Bakura opened his eyes and Mehen’s golden hair was the first thing he saw glittering in the morning sunlight. Mehen had turned over in the night and slept with his back to Bakura. Bakura curled his arms around his partner and pressed his forehead between Mehen’s shoulder blades. 

“Morning,” Mehen muttered, half asleep. 

“Morning.” 

“What’s for breakfast?” 

“Whatever we scavenge at the oasis between here and home.” 

“Why didn’t you bring provisions?” Mehen rolled to face Bakura, scowling. 

“I needed that room to carry treasure.” Bakura squeezed Mehen. “You’re all my arms can carry.” 

Mehen tried to maintain his scowl, but it melted into a smile and he kissed the tip of Bakura’s nose. They washed themselves in the water hole and readied the horses before packing up their meager camp and riding while the air was still cool. Bakura paced their journey so that they didn’t tire their horses, but still managed to reach the oasis before Ra’s chariot reached the zenith of its daily track across the sky. They found a shady spot near the lake where their horses could drink and fill themselves on grass. 

“Watch this.” Bakura raced along the bank, peering into the water. With a thrust of his arms, he plunged his hands below the surface and pulled out a fish. “Breakfast!” 

“It’s more like a mid-day meal now.” 

“Don’t complain! Some people are lucky to get a single jar of beer in a day, but we’re going to feast on fish, wild leeks, and figs.” 

“My sister often lectured me on how fortunate we were, but…” Mehen frowned. “Why?” 

“Why lecture you when you don’t listen to anyone?” Bakura asked as he plucked another fish from the lake. 

“Why is it so hard for people to get food?” 

“Because everyone is poor.” Bakura yanked two last fish from the water and began a fire so he could roast his prizes. 

“Why?” 

Bakura opened his mouth to snap at Mehen for being a moron, but when he glanced up, he realized Mehen was honestly trying to figure it out. So, instead of snapping, Bakura sighed and cleaned his fish with his knife. 

“The war was hard. Towns, like mine, were razed. All the grains burned, all the cattle stolen or killed. Even after the Pharaoh’s armies drove the attackers back, things never quite went back to normal.” 

“It doesn’t seem right. My family has so much, when everyone else has so little.” 

“That’s why I steal.” Bakura laughed. 

“Seems like there should be a way to help other people as well.” 

“There is.” Bakura stood close to Mehen, whispering in a hushed tone. “Rob a tomb.” 

Mehen raised an eyebrow, questioning. Bakura explained. 

“The older Pharaohs took immense wealth with them to the afterlife, but they don’t need that much. A haul from one of the bigger tombs can provide enough wealth to feed a village for an entire year.” 

“You sound like you know this from experience.” Mehen grinned. 

“I might have...donated some of my earnings from time to time.” Bakura shrugged. 

“So...what you’re saying is, you wouldn’t mind doing it again, right?” 

“If you’re going to twist my arm.” Bakura winked. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be this excited about beginning my life of crime.” Mehen closed his eyes, tilted his face, and enjoyed the sun’s heat on his skin. 

“It’s the most freeing life people like us can have. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Bakura cupped Mehen’s face. 

Mehen opened his eyes and gazed at Bakura. They drew close, exchanged a brief kiss, then parted so Bakura could finish roasting their food while Mehen gathered a few figs for dessert. They ate lunch and bathed in the lake before dozing for an hour beneath the shade. Once the scorching heat mellowed, they remounted their horses and finished the journey homeward. Bakura would never admit the shaky feeling in his stomach as he led Mehen up the jagged path to his den. He wanted Mehen to love the den as much as Bakura did, but wasn’t sure how a pampered noble would take to sleeping in what was, basically, a cave. 

Bakura showed Mehen where he stabled the horses. He always kept extra grain so there was plenty to feed them and water trickled down from the cave wall into a small pool. They brushed and cleaned their horses, and Bakura spoke while they worked. 

“On days when I stay here I usually lead the horse to the valley so he can run about in the shade or at least poop and piss somewhere it’s not my problem.” Bakura laughed. “There’s no stable boys here, so get used to helping me clean this place out.” 

“Just when I think this life is going to be glorious, you come along and ruin all my fun.” Mehen snorted. 

“Speaking of ruining your fun. Allow me to show you my estate—I feel like I should warn you there’s no garden.” 

Mehen pursed his lips, and Bakura wondered if he was regretting his decision to leave his rich and pampered life. He supposed if it was too bad, Mehen could always run home and fling himself on the ground, recounting the tales of horror of being kidnapped by the Dreaded King of Thieves. They walked in silence. Bakura had strung jewels together to create a curtain to the cave entrance. 

“It’s beautiful.” Mehen’s mouth dropped at the sight of string upon string of jewels. 

“Lets the air in so it’s not so hot.” Bakura held back the jeweled curtain to allow Mehen to pass. 

Inside there were chests and baskets filled with both useful items and loot from previous heists. Thick carpets, rugs, and cushions lined the area like the traveling merchant tents Bakura remembered seeing as a child. Polished brass shields and vases lined the walls, reflecting the light of the flax oil lamps Bakura lit along the way as he showed Mehen the various chambers. 

“Is that a statue of Min?” Mehen laughed when they passed by a statue with a huge cock jutting from his body. 

“Figured it wouldn’t hurt to have one of those for luck, yeah?” Bakura snickered. “Come here. There’s one area in particular I want to show you.” Bakura crawled up what might have counted as a stairway if they had a better imagination. It led to a higher chamber in the cave system. The most comfortable cushions Bakura owned created a nest in the center. There were stores for food, beer, and wine, a basin and jar of water for washing, and an area with jars of stolen perfume, tweezers, combs, razors, and jars of kohl. Above them, the rocks opened up to create an enormous, natural sky light. 

“I have to pack this stuff below during the monsoons, but otherwise, I sleep under the stars—Mehen?” Bakura spun behind him when he heard the soft, quiet, sniffling. 

“You sleep under the sky? Every night?” 

“Is it too shabby for you? Maybe I could fashion a room—”

Mehen fell into Bakura’s arms, stealing a hard, lingering kiss. He shoved Bakura into the nest of cushions, straddled him, and realigned their lips to kiss Bakura over and over and over again beneath the starlight. 

***

Iuput sat at his feast table, but didn’t touch the cheese or grapes or roasted meat on his plate. His adopted son, Rishid, entered the room, bowing low. 

“Have we received any demands for a ransom?” Iuput asked. 

“None, my lord,” Rishid said, keeping his face lowered to the floor, as was proper of his station. 

“Clearly my son was stolen from beneath my very roof, and this insult to my house _will not_ be tolerated. Go. Find Mehen, and do what you must to bring him home.” 

“Father.” Isis gasped. “If Rishid goes after them, they might—”

“Don’t worry, my daughter.” Iuput raised his hand to silence her. “Rishid has been trained to deal with scum and thieves.”

“No harm will come to Mehen as long as I live, I swear it.” Rishid bowed further before disappearing. 

Isis watched him go, sighing. “I know you trained him to be a guard for your future tomb, but what if he’s hurt while rescuing Mehen?” 

“Then he wouldn’t have been fit to guard my tomb after I ascend to Aaru.” Iuput swirled the wine in its golden goblet before taking a sip. 

Little did the girl know that Rishid was so much more than a tomb guardian. Since the day Mehen was born, assuring that a proper, blood heir would one day join Iuput in court, Iuput had his adopted son trained as an assassin. More than once, Iuput’s political enemies found themselves the victims of...unfortunate accidents. To fight a band of thieves, they needed someone as unscrupulous as a thief, and Iuput knew Rishid would track Mehen, dispatch the fiends who kidnapped him, and make sure no witnesses were left to spread rumors that Mehen had ever been stolen in the first place. 

***

Mehen whimpered when Bakura pulled away. The thief’s hair was a mess around his face, his lips were dark and kiss-swollen. Mehen reached out for him again, but he scrambled from beneath Mehen with a sly grin on his face. Leaning over, Bakura plucked a bottle of lavender oil from one of the many treasure baskets near his bed. Bakura poured the oil into his palm and anointed both of their cocks before nudging them together. The way their hot, slick skin glided together shot jolts of desire through Mehen. Only then did Bakura allow their lips to reconnect. He rocked against Mehen and rubbed their shafts together. Mehen moaned, dug his nails into Bakura’s shoulders, and matched Bakura hitch for hitch. 

So many stars freckled the sky that the night hardly counted as dark. The cool gleam of the moon mixed with the warm tones from the flax lamps, gilding everything in the chamber silver or gold. The waves of light heightened the curve of Bakura’s muscles as he hovered above Mehen and rolled his hips. His eyes closed and his face wrinkled into an adorable, aroused mess. Each press of their bodies lured a huff of breath from the thief and the sight of him...the sound of him losing himself in pleasure, swept Mehen away in a rush of desire. 

He wrapped his hand around both their cocks, stroking with desperate, quick flicks of his wrists. His body tightened, pleasure seizing his muscles, and Mehen cried out as he came. Sated, he focused on stroking Bakura until Bakura tossed his head and whimpered as his orgasm raced through him. Afterward, Bakura wiped them down with an old cloth and rested his head on Mehen’s chest. 

“So I take that as you approving of the hideout.” Bakura grinned. 

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.” 

Mehen starred up, at the stars, at the naked sky. He felt like he could reach out and steal it all—string the stars together like jewels and hang them like a beaded curtain because now he was free and no longer needed to sleep in a prison with a roof and doors. 


	3. Chapter 3

Mehen awoke to the aroma of bread. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, stretching, and realizing he was famished. 

“Did you make food?” Mehen asked in a sleepy murmur. 

“Breakfast in bed, my lord.” Bakura bowed with a hearty laugh. 

He plopped down beside Mehen and placed a basket between them. The basket had two loaves of steaming bread, a wedge of hard cheese, and figs. Bakura also handed Mehen a jar of beer. He tilted his head back to chug from his own jar and released a satisfied sigh after a good gulp. 

“So you actually _baked_ this?” Mehen tore a piece from the flat loaf of bread. 

“There’s a village near by that I travel to once or twice a week for beer and other rations, but it’s easier to bake the bread myself.” Bakura shrugged. 

“It’s cute.” Mehn grinned and he popped another piece of bread into his mouth. 

“Cute? Why is it cute?” Bakura wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

“I don’t know? Because it’s so ordinary, I suppose. The great King of Thieves...baking bread.” 

“It’ll be even more cute when we return and I wake you up in the morning to teach _you_ how to bake it as well.” 

“When we return?” 

“Yeah. You wanted to rob a tomb. We’ll have to spend a few weeks traveling to various candidates and case them. See which ones look worth the risk and decide how much risk. It’s no easy feat—even when you’re the best.” 

“Oh.” Mehen sighed, sipping from his jar. “Yes. It’s a shame though. I was looking forward to getting used to this place, but you’re right. I came with you for freedom and adventure. So there’s no use stalling.” 

Mehen finished his breakfast, washed in the basin, and repacked his bags for their long journey. He took much longer than Bakura, who lounged on several cushions and snickered at Mehen’s fussy packing. 

“I’ve never left my home except those forbidden trips to the market when I would tease you.” Mehen shot Bakura a playfully irritated glance. 

“All that trouble just to see me?” Bakura smirked. 

“You wish.” Mehen grabbed one of the pillows and dove at Bakrua with it. 

“Hey!” Bakura caught Mehen and tickled his ribs to force Mehen to relax his grip on the cushion. 

They tumbled together, laughing and wrestling. Bakura ended up pinned on his back with a sultry gaze and knowing grin. 

“You wanted me to hurry.” Mehen nudged his knee between Bakura’s legs, drawing a soft gasp from the thief. 

“Yeah, but you took so long that I got bored.” 

“We’ll have to wash up again.” Mehen rolled his hips down. 

“So what?” 

“We’ll leave late.” 

“Thieves travel better at night.” Bakura hitched into Mehen’s subtle but tantalizing movements. 

“Nice excuse.” Mehen lowered until their lips met. 

“Here.” Bakura broke their kiss, flipped them with more ease than Mehen thought possible, and held Mehen’s face as they kissed some more. 

Mehen raised an eyebrow to question Bakura—he didn’t want to break their kiss to ask out loud. Bakura grinned, and Mehen dabbed his tongue across Bakura’s bottom lip. After a few more easy, languid kisses, Bakura curved down to Mehen’s neck, shoulders, and chest. 

“ _Ah_.” Mehen sighed, relaxing beneath Bakura’s gentle affection. 

Bakura continued to spoil Mehen with brushes of his lips. He kept Mehen’s clothes on, but pushed up his shendyt so he could bury his face between Mehen’s thighs. 

“ _Oh Min!_ ” Mehen arched. 

Bakura neither hurried nor dragged out the attention. He kissed along Mehen’s thighs, the creases of his legs, up to his navel, and then took a meandering path to his balls, where he lapped at Mehen without hesitation. 

“Bakura...Bakura…” Mehen was rocking his hips in low upward thrusts, silently begging for Bakura to keep going. 

Bakura sucked, driving Mehen wild. Mehen was so lost to pleasure, that when Bakura pulled away only to drop his entire mouth around Mehen’s cock, it was almost too much. Mehen cried out, grabbed the back of Bakura’s head, and thrust to the back of Bakura’s throat. 

“Sorry.” Mehen released Bakura, trying to give him a chance to set the pace and depth. Needing something to hold onto, Mehen clutched at the cushions around them. 

Bakura never complained, nor did he slow down. He slid up and dropped down with the same consistent pace, and Mehen dug his teeth into his bottom lip, holding back with all his might so as not to grab Bakura’s head again. It was difficult with Bakura’s lips sealed so securely around Mehen’s cock, sliding up and down until Mehen’s dick was wet and gleaming. Mehen’s chest rose and fell with heavy pants. He muttered nonsense, trying to compliment Bakura but too out of his mind to think of something good. After only a few, blissful minutes, Mehen’s body tightened and his toes curled. 

“Bakura!” Mehen screamed and then came. 

When he settled he realized that one of his hands had tangled back into Bakura’s stark white hair. Mehen blushed, released his grip, and licked his lips as he studied Bakura’s face. Always unruly and gorgeous, the white strands of Bakura’s hair were extra wild from Mehen’s tugging and his complexion had a bright glow. His eyes were lit up as he stared at Mehen, but his lips were friction dark and plump and Mehen grabbed Bakura’s red robe so he could tug him closer and lick his way into that sarcastic mouth of his. Bakura whimpered; Mehen encouraged the sounds by cupping the bulge rising from Bakura’s shenti. 

“Would you like me to give you the same courtesy?” Mehen whispered against Bakura’s lips. 

Bakura’s eyes widened then lidded as he nodded and slipped his tongue into Mehen’s mouth. Mehen indulged him, enjoying the way Bakura’s lips massaged against his own. Their fingers grabbed for each other. He was still getting acquainted with Bakura’s body and how Bakura liked to be touched. When his fingertips brushed Bakura’s shaft, Bakura hitched and whimpered. The way his lips parted with want, and the way his eye lost all focus, spurred Mehen onward. He teased his thumb around the tip of Bakura’s cockhead while journying down Bakura’s body. He began with a simple lick, a broad press of his tongue, and Bakura writhed as his cries echoed in the cavern. Mehen slid his hand lower, licking Bakura’s tip again, then slid back up. Bakura raised and lowered his hips in time with Mehen’s strokes. When Bakura’s hips started moving faster, Mehen wrapped his mouth around Bakura’s cock and dropped down to his base. 

“ _Ah_! Mehen!” Bakura thrust his cock deeper. 

Mehen moved up and down with intent concentration. He listened to Bakura’s ragged breaths and half-syllabled noises to figure out how fast to move and where he should bump with his tongue as he sucked. As he got into the act, Mehen sped up, almost doing one-armed push-ups while his other hand held Bakrua’s cock steady. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Mehen!” Bakura came suddenly with a loud groan. 

Afterward he was boneless and relaxed against the cushions. Mehen swallowed and nuzzled against Bakura’s chest. 

“So we’ll ride in the evening?” 

“Yeah.” Bakura wrapped an arm around Mehen. “Gives you a little longer to get settled in, right?” 

“Gives _you_ a little longer to nap.” Mehen poked Bakura’s chest. 

“That too.” He kissed Mehen’s forehead. 

The kiss tickled. Mehen curled beside Bakura and closed his eyes. 

***

Bakura scowled at the tomb in the distance. They were stomach down at the crest of one of the endless sand dunes swelling across the desert. The paintings on the tomb were fresh and bright. Someone had paid to update the fine details and keep the sand from piling near the entrance. 

“I don’t like this one. I think we should search for something else.” 

“That’s what you said about the first three. C’mon Bakura, when do we actually get to steal something?” Mehen whined. 

“Those first three tombs were crawling with guards,” Bakura argued. 

“And this one has zero guards in sight. Perfect.” 

“Not perfect. No guards means two things. Either the tomb doesn’t have enough treasure or importance to bother, or something worse than guards protects it.” Bakura drew along the scar marring his face. “Trust me, Mehen. Every lesson I ever learned about stealing I learned the hard way. Don’t do the same. Listen to my advice instead.” 

“Okay. I do trust you. I just thought stealing would be more…” Mehen pouted. “Exciting, but this is dull.” 

“You’ll get your thrill when we’re sneaking past guards and dodging traps, but we need to find the _right_ target.” Bakura backed down the hill on hands and knees, only standing when he was certain they were out of sight of the tomb. “There was a town not too far back. Let’s circle to it and spend the night in a bed before taking off again.” 

“A bed sounds good.” Mehen stretched before mounting his horse. “You’re a great pillow, but the sand is a poor mattress.” 

“But no one cares how loud I scream in the desert.” Bakura winked. 

“I’m surprised you don’t make the hyenas wail in response. You sound like one.” Mehen laughed. 

“Well, don’t fuck me so good and I won’t bray like a wild animal.” Bakura shrugged, unbothered by Mehen’s teasing. 

“But everytime I look at you, I can’t help but devour you the way Amit devours an unrighteous soul.” Mehen licked his lips. 

“Um...let’s hurry to that town.” 

The night air was cool and they could ride at a steady pace without worrying about the horses tiring. When they reached the town, they found a stable to shelter, groom, and feed the animals, and then they went walking down the streets. It was late enough for the market crowds to disperse, but not so late that others weren’t taking advantage of the cooler evening weather. They found a tavern serving beer, bread, fish and grilled leeks. Bakura paid for the food and drinks and they devoured everything on their plate before getting a second beer to take with them as they wandered. 

“This is all I ever wanted. A cool breeze. The freedom to walk around and sip beer and talk about whatever crosses my mind.” 

“You especially love that last one.” Bakura nudged Mehen’s ribs with his elbow. 

“You’re one to talk.” Mehen snorted. 

“I see what you did there.” Bakura giggled at the pun. 

Mehen exhaled. When Bakura laughed, Mehen’s heart melted as if Ra were blasting it with all his godly powers. He locked their free hands together and led him to an area where they could hear music. A large crowd was dancing and feasting beneath the light of the moon and dozens of flax lamps. 

“What’s all this?” Mehen asked. 

“Looks like a wedding,” Bakura said. 

They lingered, watching the happy couple dance and share wine. As they examined the groom and bride, Mehen and Bakura accidentally stole a glance at each other at the same moment. They blushed and looked away, but their gazes locked together a moment later. 

“I feel as happy as they look,” Bakura confessed. 

“I was thinking the exact same thing.” Mehen hid his face behind his jar of beer as he laughed. 

“Don’t hide.” Bakura lowered Mehen’s hand and cupped his face. “I want to see how beautiful you are.” 

“Hey Bakura?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Let’s find a room and pretend like it’s our wedding night.” Mehen plucked a kiss from Bakura’s lips. 

“I like the way you think.” Bakura returned the kiss and then gave him a few extra. 

They raced to the nearest inn, paid, and hardly managed to shut the door before their mouths crashed together. Mehen tore the scarlet robe from Bakura’s shoulders and slung it to the ground. They stumbled and tripped across the room, crashing on top of the bed. Neither bothered to light a lamp, but their window had a good view of the moon and the white beam cast a soft wash of light across the bed. Mehen dragged his fingers through Bakura’s hair. 

“Now, I know what you’re thinking.” Bakura spoke as they caught their breaths. “But your hair is also silvery and stunning in the moonlight—in case you were wondering.” 

“Thanks for keeping me informed.” Mehen peppered Bakura’s neck with small, loving bites. 

“Mmm….Mehen...don’t stop.” 

“What _precisely_ would you like?” Mehen purred in Bakura’s ear. “Tell me in detail.” 

“I—I have oil.” Bakura’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight. His face was half-shadowed, but he looked flushed. 

“Yes. Good. What would you like me to do with the oil?” Mehen grinned. 

“Well first, perhaps a little touching.” Bakura grabbed Mehen’s hand and led it to his cock, rutting against Mehen’s palm before dipping Mehen’s fingers lower. “Then I want you inside me.” 

“I’ll grab the oil.” Mehen dragged his lips against Bakura’s, sucking. 

He fumbled to the door where they’d dropped their bags in their rush. He found the bottle of oil wrapped in linen and brought it to the bed. Bakura spread his legs, a beautiful sight, but Mehen savored the journey and kissed up Bakura’s thighs to work him up before anointing his body with oil. Mehen stroked Bakura with tight, slow strokes. Bakura arched, his cock a firm and fat obelisk reaching up toward the mysterious night sky. When Bakura twitched in Mehen’s hand, he added more oil and slipped a finger into Bakura’s body. Mehen explored Bakura’s inner heat while stroking himself with his left hand. The anticipation trembled in his belly. He’d never entered Bakura before and couldn’t stop thinking about how it might feel. As much as he wanted to rush in, he added a second finger and made sure Bakura’s body was relaxed and ready.

Bakura grunted with the addition of the second finger. His breathing was steady, but a little raspy as he spread across the bed. Bakura bit his bottom lip, and after another minute of careful stretching, he caught Mehen’s gaze. 

“I think I’m ready.” 

Mehen nodded, his guts twisting in excitement. He added a final drizzle of oil and lined himself up. Once he could feel the tip of his cock nudging Bakura’s entrance, he checked Bakura’s face to make sure Bakura looked as eager as Mehen felt. Bakura stared at the space where their bodies met, attention locked on Mehen’s cock. With a confident grin, Mehen pushed forward. The oil helped him squeeze inside. Bakura’s flesh hugged him, all of him, and Mehen choked because it was so good he thought he might cry. After he sheathed himself to the base, he stole a quick kiss from Bakura’s mouth. 

Bakura grabbed Mehen’s hips, his grip wonderfully crushing. His lips parted as he panted. Mehen eased back, shuddering at the sucking pleasure. Before he could slip out, he eased back to his base. 

“ _Ah_!” Bakura gasped. “Fuck! Again!” 

So Mehen did it again, and again, and again. They rocked together, Mehen pushing deep each time and making Bakura groan in wordless delirium. Their sweat made their bodies slip together. His stomach glided along Bakura’s cock with each thrust until Bakura slipped his hand between them so he could stroke himself. Understanding Bakura was close, Mehen increased his pace to a canter. 

“Yes...yes...yes…” Bakura cried at the pinnacle of Mehen’s thrusts. “Yes!” 

“Bakura—” Mehen’s brow wrinkled as he pumped as hard and fast as he could, ravenous for the feel of Bakura’s body around him. 

“Mehen—’m coming—” Bakura moaned as he poured over his stomach. 

Bakura’s orgasm made his body spasm and tighten around Mehen’s cock. He raised Bakura’s legs so he could drive down hard and intense into Bakura’s body. Bakura wailed as Mehen continued to pound into him. His mouth stretched into a wide O, he screamed—worldless and feral—and his climax shattered his thoughts and spiraled through his body like a storm. They crashed into each other's arms and passed out until the sunlight struck their eyes the next day and woke them. 

***

The air was hot as Rishid rode. He’d taken his most reliable horse, Kwehnit, and his falcon, Nephthys, to help him hunt the thief who’d dared dishonor his family and kidnap his brother. A town broke the horizon. The heat in the air shimmered around the buildings. Rishid found a stable for Kwehnit and an inn where he could eat and sleep a few hours before continuing his journey. 

The afternoon was uneventful, but as he left, Nephthys ruffled her feathers, agitated and nervous. Rishid remained calm, a statue on horseback riding out of town, but he scanned the sand dunes for what was bothering Nephthys. He caught sight of a man wrapped in coarse, undyed flax linen. Still and stoic, Rishid made slow movements to reach his poisoned throwing knives. He wasn’t surprised when he crested the next hill and saw a woman standing beside a broken palanquin. She rushed toward him, eyes wide and filled with jeweled tears. 

“Please! Help! Bandits came and killed my servants! Won’t you help me?” 

“Where are the bodies?” Rishid asked. 

“What?” The woman stopped, thrusting her bottom lip in a pout and allowing the fabric of her dress to slip down her dark and smooth shoulder. 

“If they killed your servants why aren’t their bodies? Or blood? Or kicked patches of sand where they struggled?” 

“I...I...don’t know—” 

“Nephthys!” Rishid raised his arm and the bird took to the air. 

The moment he did, an arrow shot in his direction, but he avoided it by shifting just enough, no wasted movements. He turned in his seat and threw the first knife. The blade caught the archer in the throat and he dropped into the sand. Rishid dismounted and tossed off his outer robe so it didn’t impede his movement. He tossed another knife at a bandit charging for him, and then dodged, rolled, and caught a third thief. The last bandit tried to jump from behind the palanquin and throw his own knife at Rishid, but Rishid stepped aside while Nephthys dove from the air and clawed at the man’s face. Rishid flung his dirk and the blade plunged into the man’s stomach. 

The poison was quick, but cruel, and Rishid did not enjoy watching others suffer. He plucked the knife from the man’s stomach and slit his throat to end his misery. Turning, he stepped toward the female bandit who stared at Rishid with a gaping mouth and wide, surprised eyes. 

“See? Bodies. Blood. Disturbances in the sand. This is what a battle scene looks like.” 

“Don’t...don’t kill me.” She dropped to her knees. “They made me!” 

“Your eyes tell me you’re lying.” Rishid walked toward her. 

She lifted her hands to her face, crying out in fear. Rishid flourished a few rare stones. 

“I prefer not to kill women. Take this and buy food. Think about something else to do with your life.” 

“Bastard!” She slapped Rishid’s gift from his hand. The stones plopped into the sand. “What else is there to do!” 

“I’m not sure, but we’ve all been given our lots in life, and it’s our duty to the gods to live as righteously as we can, even when we must commit evil to survive.” Rishid claimed his other knives, cleaned them and stored them carefully in case any poison lingered on the blades. And he continued his journey with Nephthys flying beside him. 

If the woman picked up the stones or not, Rishid didn’t know and didn’t concern himself with it. His task in life was to serve his father and his brother, and until his brother was safe at home, Rishid didn’t have the luxury to worry about anything else. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Ready?” Bakura glanced at Mehen. 

“Yes.” Mehen’s jaw tightened as he stared at the tomb. 

Two guards stood at the entrance. They only had spears, and looked bored as they stood in silence. Bakura and Mehen parted with a kiss and circled around the pyramid. Mehen hid in the shadows, sliding behind the guard and smashing the pummel of his khopesh into the base of the guard’s skull. When both guards crashed to the sand, Mehen and Bakura tied them and dragged them out of the way before entering the tomb. 

“There are probably more guards closer to the pharaoh’s chamber, so stay alert.” 

“I know.” 

“And watch for traps. They’re far more likely to kill us than the guards.” 

“I know. Bakura, we’ve gone over this a thousand times.” 

“Mehen.” Bakura snatched Mehen’s hand and brushed the palm against his facial scar. “Even seasoned thieves will have close calls, and you are but a spring seedling rising out of the flooded Nile. Listen for the thousand and first time and keep vigilant.” 

“I will.” Mehen kissed Bakura's scar before continuing down the stone archway. 

They both saw the trip wires and pressure-sensitive tiles, but Mehen almost missed the figure stalking them in the shadows. The silhouette drew something and moved toward Bakura, and Mehen acted on instinct more than his senses. He blocked the dagger with the hook at the end of his blade and used his free hand to punch the guard in the face. Bakura already had more rope to tie and gag the guard. 

“Good eye. I knew you’d see him.” 

“You _knew_? Why didn’t you stop him?” Mehen scowled. 

“I needed to test your skills.” Bakura shrugged. 

“Idiot! What if I’d failed!” 

“I would have dodged.” Bakura set the guard in a corner and tethered him so he couldn’t set off any traps they’d missed. 

“You’re a smug prick.” Mehen exhaled, adrenaline draining from his muscles. 

“I know, but you did wonderfully.” Bakura winked and continued through the dark. 

They wandered down the halls. Each corridor created a maze of dark and stone. The endlessness of it grated on Mehen’s nerves until he didn’t even care about the treasure—he just wanted _out_. He’d spent his entire life trapped inside a mansion, and being trapped inside a tomb was so, _so_ much worse. 

“How will we find the treasure room?” Mehen asked. 

“It will be the hardest area to get into.”

“And how will we get into it?” 

“You’ll see.” Bakura winked. 

They turned another corner and saw an empty wall painted with a great feast. 

“Here we go.” Bakura slapped the wall. “ Guards will be at the regular entrance, but we’re going to take a little spirit short-cut. Diabound! Do your stuff!” 

The ka slipped through the stone. Mehen waited, impatience nipping at his spine the entire time. He jumped, khopesh in guard, when a crack echoed in the air. The stones slid aside to form a very narrow passage. 

“This entrance is for the Pharaoh’s akh to slip in and out from the spirit world, but if it’s good enough for a king—it’s good enough for us.” Bakura turned sideways to slip through the crack. 

Mehen followed him. When he saw the treasure lining the chamber, he whistled. The treasury in Mehen’s father’s estate was well endowed, but _this_ was easily ten times more wealth than Mehen had ever seen in even his privileged life. They didn’t speak; instead, they loaded messenger bags full of perfume, jewelry, artwork, and anything else that was easy to carry and would fetch a decent price. Mehen saw Bakura draping extra jewels on his body and stuffing more in the pockets of his robe, so Mehen copied him. 

They couldn’t even fit into the passage on their way out. They had to slip the bags through first, then Bakura’s robe (and bulging pockets), and finally squeeze through themself before re-equipping themselves with their loot. 

“If we’re lucky, all the guards are focused on the entrance, waiting for us, and don’t realize we’re already robbed them. Let’s hurry before they figure out our game.” 

Mehen nodded and followed Bakura. They both grinned as they danced around the traps. The guards they’d contained were gone, but it didn’t matter, because they were already out of the tomb and running to their horses waiting on the lee of the dunes. Mehen started laughing. 

“Shh. Not yet. We don’t want them chasing us.” Bakura held his own laughter as he mounted his horse. 

Because of the extra weight, they had to ride slowly through the sand. They only stopped in the nearest town long enough to rest and water their horses and gather a few supplies before travelling further away. The guards would surely send hunting parties to the nearest towns, and they wanted to avoid fighting if they could manage it. Mehen didn’t mind. Camping in the desert would never be as comfortable as lounging on a chaise with servants refilling his wine, but Mehen enjoyed making love to Bakura near a magical fire and spending the evening staring at the stars above them. 

At the last city, Bakura fenced some of the treasure for grain, seeds, tools, and medicine. They only spent about a quarter of their gains, but Mehen didn’t question, merely watched to see what Bakura would do with the rest. After another week of traveling, they arrived at their destination. The village was pitiful. Each house, if they could be called such, was a single square of home-made mud bricks. Little ovens sat near the doors where mothers baked bread. Feral kittens chased each other outside of the granaries, and wild children did the same down the road that had worn down to more of a path barely fit for a horse-drawn cart. Most of the adults were in the fields, but several elders stood in their doorways, eyeing Bakura and Mehen with suspicion. Bakura stared back, evaluating each one until he saw a woman with one eye and barely three entire teeth in her mouth. 

He stopped, then, and unloaded all the food and supplies from his horse. 

“I looked over the land, and it seemed Ma’at’s scales were a little uneven. I figured we ought to balance them a bit.” He handed her the medicine directly while setting the other supplies nearby. 

“Thank you.” She dropped to her knees and bowed low in the sand. 

“Nah. Don’t do that.” Bakura helped her to her feet. 

Without further fanfare, they left—only to exchange another quarter of their wealth for supplies and then drop the goods at another small town. Finally, Bakura traded in the last half of the treasure—keeping some for themselves, of course—and loaded their horses with all the supplies they could fit. 

“This last town is...special. A couple of my distant cousins moved there after they married. I suppose if I ever wanted to live a normal life I would have resettled there as well.” Bakrua snorted. “But I think this suits me better.” 

“Do you keep in contact with them? Your cousins?” 

“They don’t recognize me,” Bakura said. “I figured it’s better. If I’m ever caught, I don’t have to worry about them.” 

“It must hurt, not to be able to speak to your only family.” Mehen exhaled. “I’ll always miss my brother and sister, but I’ll never regret my decision.” 

“Come on.” Bakura nudged his head forward. “Let’s race to the village.” 

Their “race” was only a light trot, but they laughed as they pulled into the village. This one was no less dilapidated than the others, but there was a huge difference on how they were greeted. As soon as they were spotted, the farmers left the fields to welcome them and walked them to the center of town. The children raced around them, excited and screaming, the old woman embraced Bakura and kissed his cheeks—they did the same to Mehen. He tried to squirm away, but they insisted and he gave in to it. The villagers unloaded their horses of the supplies and the women began cooking. 

“You’re too skinny.” A tall woman poked Bakura in the gut. “Stop giving us all the grain and feed yourself.” 

“I try, but my bread tastes like shit compared to yours.” Bakura shrugged. 

Mehen couldn’t help but smile. Bakura’s bread was actually quite good, but the old woman’s eyes lit up at the compliment, and she bragged about the dates and honey she would add to Bakura’s bread now that they had enough supplies to last them until their crops were ready to harvest. In minutes, the town was transformed into a small festival. They passed out beer, roasted leeks, fish, and more sweet breads than Mehen could eat. Clusters of people sang and danced. Bakura and Mehen were caught in the center of it all. Bakura grabbed Mehen and twirled him circles. He pulled Mehen to his chest, bumped their noses together, and laughed over the music. 

A bright, joyous light flashed in Bakura’s eyes and Mehen’s heart danced more quickly than his feet did. He knew then, in Bakura’s arms, that he would never long for his old home again. The softest linen and finest wine couldn’t compare to the common taste of beer in the middle of a crowd while they danced until their sandals rubbed blisters into their feet and they had to sit in the shade of one of the small homes to catch their breath. This was beyond anything Mehen could have ever imagined for himself, and he was more happy than he’d ever dreamed. 

***

Rishid tracked them to the tomb they’d robbed, and tracked them through a series of towns. He expected them to have stopped at some point to fence the stolen goods, but was surprised when he discovered they’d redistributed much of the treasure as food and medicine to a couple of different villages. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason behind their targets except they were in need of the supplies. It was as if the Thief King randomly picked the first desolate town he came across and offered them gifts beyond what the gods ever gave to the people. 

It confused him. If Mehen was kidnapped, why were they travelling together? Surely Mehen was smart enough to find help in the cities they passed through. Rishid could only surmise, then, that the Thief King was trying to corrupt his younger brother. Allow him to help several villages with their treasure to seduce him toward a life of crime. He didn’t want a mere slave or hostage, he wanted to ruin his brother’s soul completely and damn him to Ammit when his luck finally ran out and a trap or guard claimed poor Mehen’s life. 

Rishid’s fist tightened along the reigns of his mount. He wasn’t going to allow the Thief to have an honorable death after toying with Mehen’s soul. Rishid would cut the Thief’s heart from his chest and burn it so there would be nothing to be weighed. Let the King of Thieves wander the Duat for all times as a tormented spirit. It was the only fitting punishment. 

After the long journey, Rishid found himself heading back where he started, but he couldn’t quite find the thief’s hideout. The area was a maze of mountains, cliffs, and valleys where the tracks vanished in the bedrock. Rishid was forced to backtrack to the nearest town and find a tavern where everyone wore a knife strapped in view as a warning to others. He figured it was the best place to gather information. 

The tavern was dim and cool. Rishid sighed at the opportunity to hide from Ra’s gaze for an hour. He sat at a table and ordered beer and food. His server was a tall, dark, strong woman who didn’t wear jewels, but sported thick braids of real hair—which meant, despite the dilapidated surroundings, that she had enough money to afford the herbs and oils that kept the pests away and didn’t have to shave it or wear a wig. Rishid nodded, offering a smile. She returned the gesture. 

“If you need to sleep while the sun’s at its peak we have beds for rent in the back.” 

“Thank you for the information.” 

“For a little extra, I can arrange company.” 

“I’m actually more interested in your information.” 

“I can arrange that as well.” She wandered away, swishing her hips. 

Rishid admired the sight before finishing his meal. She returned with another beer, and once he cleaned his plate and emptied his mug, she led him to one of the rooms in the back. Rishid went to the corner where a basin was set for bathing and wiped the dust off his body with a cool, damp cloth. 

“I can help.” The woman stole the cloth from Rishid’s hand and set to work on rubbing the muscles on his chest. 

“What’s your name?” He asked. 

“Anything you’d like.” She smirked. 

“I’d like your real name. I’m Rishid.” 

She glanced up at him, measuring him up. Eventually she shrugged. 

“Renenet.” 

“Ah, I hope you’ll be the goddess of my good fortune, then.” Rishid brushed one of the heavy braids from her shoulder. 

“What was the information you wanted?” She dropped his shendyt to the ground and knelt to bathe his lower body. 

“I’ve been tracking a thief.” 

“You might as well track sand in the desert.” Renenet snorted. 

“This one has a crimson cloak and fashions himself a king.” 

“Ah him.” Renenet chuckled. “Borning customer. He never has any interest in the back rooms. I often see him in the Shadow Market fencing treasure.” 

“You wouldn’t happen to know the whereabouts of his lair?” Rishid raised an eyebrow, not hoping, but it never hurt to try. 

“No, but I have a map which might help you narrow down where to search.” Renenet kissed along Rishid’s thighs. “I’ll show it to you afterward.” 

A huff of breath escaped Rishid. He’d vowed to not rest or relax until his mission was done...but he did not think Renenet was going to give him much of a choice. His fingers wove into her braided hair as she sealed her lips around him and sucked. A small grunt escaped Rishid as he shut his eyes. 

When hard, he lifted Renenet into his arms and pressed her against the wall. She focused her gaze on him, eyes dark like the gems in the hilt of his sword. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer and urging him between her legs. Rishid huffed, anticipation building in his gut. He bit at her collarbone, and pressed a simple kiss to her lips as he eased inside. She clenched around him, warm and tight. Her arms circled his neck as he rocked inside her body. 

He began slowly, building strength before speed. Her breathing quickened and her high pitched cries grew deep and desperate. Her nails scraped his back. Rishid hissed as the scratches tingled then burned. She was wet and slick and their skin slapped in rapid, repetitive claps. 

Renenet tensed, screaming as she shuddered through her orgasm. Rishid would have liked a full night to really love her properly, but there was work to do. As she came down from her climax, he sped his thrusts. His arms began to ache so, with a growl, he carried her to the edge of the bed.

With her ankles over his shoulders, Rishid drove her like a chariot. She didn't stop moaning even after coming, and her sultry voice helped lure Rishid to the edge. His orgasm wracked through his body, leaving him weak, boneless. With sweat dripping from his forehead he crashed beside her on the bed.

"You've given me what I wanted, so here's the map." Renenet rolled off the bed and fetched a scroll from a chest.

Her dress was rumpled. Rishid wanted to pull it off and feel the heat of her skin against him. He made a mental note to return to this inn if he was ever in the area. Her dark skin glistened with sweat, a treasure itself. One he wasn't really worthy of and yet, by her grace, was allowed to admire. She unrolled the map and pointed.

"This is our town, and here are the mountain ranges." 

Rishid noticed a small creek carving its way through the mountains.

"Water near this valley. A thief might drink beer, but a horse needs water. Thank you. I know where to look now." 

***

"It'll be good to return to our den," Mehen said as they rode beneath the dusk-orange sky.

"We still have enough treasure to go quite a while before our next heist. Plenty of time to get comfy." Bakura smiled. “A honeymoon period, if you will.” 

"I can't wait to curl up on our cushions and stare at the stars while in your arms." Mehen lidded his gaze, focusing on Bakura instead of the gorgeous sky. 

"We do that every night." Bakura laughed.

"Not on cushions." Mehen snickered.

"Can't argue there." 

"It would be the first time you didn’t argue," Mehen teased. 

"I'll make it up to you later." Bakura's expression grew somber. "I'm sorry I can't give you a proper wedding party." 

"And why not?" Mehen licked his lips. "Can we not afford food and beautiful clothes for a feast?" 

"We cannot invite your family," Bakura said. 

"True. They would have enjoyed watching me marry, but if you're the only one at the feast then we only need as many clothes as we see fit." 

"So you actually want to?" Bakura blushed.

"Have our own, private wedding feast? Yes, I think I'd like that very much." Mehen nodded.

"I'll run to town and gather food and wine. It will only take a few hours." 

"Mmm... leave me alone for a few hours and I might think of a fun way to greet you when you return," Mehen purred.

"Looking forward to it." Bakura leaned over his horse to steal a brief kiss before riding in the opposite direction.

Mehen followed the trail to their home. He water, fed, and brushed the horse before going to their own cave. He ran down to the stream at the bottom of the valley so he could bathe thoroughly—wanting to be fresh enough to allow Bakura to kiss him anywhere he wanted without self-consciousness. Naked, Mehen allowed his skin to air dry as he wound up the trail and home. He combed his hair and applied kohl, rouge, and perfume they’d stolen from the tomb. 

Mehen ran his hands along the curves of his body, anticipating Bakura’s touch. It seemed a shame, to hide himself behind flax-cloth, even if it was finely woven. Mehen decided to dress himself in gold and treasure instead. He circled golden chains around his waist and covered both arms and legs with bracelets and bangles. A turquoise wesekh added color to his throat, and strings of jewels sparkled in his hair. When Mehen couldn’t fit another ring on his finger, he lounged on a pile of cushions beneath the stars. The sky above him glittered, but not half as richly as Mehen himself. 

His heartbeat quickened when footsteps echoed through the cave. Mehen caught the flick of a shadow against the opposite wall. He shifted into a provocative pose and licked his lips, overflowing with excitement. 

“Where is the thief who’s stolen me away? Has he come to ravage me as well?” Mehen asked in a husky voice, playing it up to see the goofy, proud smirk on Bakura’s face. 

It wasn’t Bakura who stepped into the chamber. 

It was Mehen’s brother. 

“Rishid?” Mehen grabbed a sheer cloth to cover himself. He wasn’t ashamed of his nakedness, but rather the stolen jewels all over his body. 

“What has he done to you?” Rishid’s jaw clenched. 

“No. It’s not what it looks like. Rishid, listen—”

“Oi! Oi! I’m back! Where is my stolen treasure?” Bakura sauntered into the chamber, unaware of their guest until it was too late. 

He was properly scrubbed and bathed as well, hair still a little damp, and he wore a long pleated shendyt and white robes. Mehen had half a second to flush at Bakura in his wedding clothes before his heart broke when Rishid arched one of his poisoned daggers at Bakura’s throat. 


	5. Chapter 5

Bakura leapt backward and brought his arm to block the knife. The blade struck one of Bakura’s gold bangles hidden beneath the white robes. 

“Careful! They’re poisoned!” Mehen shouted. “Rishid, stop it!” 

“This assault _will not be forgiven_!” Rishid growled and struck with his off-hand knife. 

Bakura dodged and rolled out of Rishid’s range of attack. 

“Mehen? You know him?” 

“My brother.” 

“Ah—”

“Don’t even speak to Mehen you vile swine!” Rishid whistled and Nephthys swept through the skylight above them and into the room. 

She dipped, scratching at Bakura’s eyes, but the King of Thieves managed to dodge and put himself between Mehen and Rishid in an attempt to protect Mehen. 

“Away from my brother!” Rishid flung three knives. 

“Idiot!” Bakura shouted. 

He couldn’t dodge the knives without risking Mehen. Instead, he spun, grabbed Mehen, and shoved them both to the cushions. The first two knives flew over their heads, but the third struck Bakura’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth, breaking out in sweat as the poison burned through his veins. 

“Rishid! Give me the antidote!” Mehen shrieked. 

“No! Brother, this man is corrupting your soul! If you follow him in his life of sin—”

“I don’t care!” Mehen pulled the knife from Bakura’s arm and sliced his palm open. 

“Mehen!” Rishid crashed beside Mehen, reached into his belt, and pushed a small bottle into Mehen’s uninjured hand. “Drink this! Immediately!” 

“Thank you.” Mehen gasped, breathless. He poured the bottle into Bakura’s mouth. 

Bakura wanted to scream ‘no,’ more concerned with Mehen’s well-being than his own. 

“What are you doing?” Rishid dug through his belt for another bottle. 

“I knew if I cut myself you’d give me the antidote and then I could save him.”

“He’s a thief!”

“He’s my husband.” Mehen fell backward against the cushions. 

Rishid hovered over him, pouring a second bottle of antidote between Mehen’s lips. Bakura held Mehen’s face, watching his fevered cheeks and the way his chest shuddered as he tried to breath. It was a tense minute before Mehen’s eyes fluttered open and Bakura smashed their mouths together. 

“Don’t ever do anything like that ever again,” Bakura hissed against Mehen’s lips. “If something happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” 

“Rishid wasn’t going to let me die—just you.” Mehen’s chuckle was weak, but sincere. Bakura pressed their foreheads together. 

“You’re so stubborn.” Bakura growled, but nuzzled Mehen’s face like an affectionate cat. 

“So you really are...in love?” Rishid swallowed. His complexion was pale, and his brow was dabbled in sweat. 

“We knew each other as kids,” Bakura said. 

“I used to sneak out to the market and chase this asshole all over the city.” Mehen laughed. 

“But...you robbed a tomb.” Rishid shook his head. 

“To buy medicine for some of the struggling villages,” Mehen said. 

“That has to be a trick. He’s trying to trick you,” Rishid insisted. “He wants you to think being a thief is glamorous.” 

“Are you kidding? All I ever hear is ‘this is dangerous, Mehen,’ ‘watch out, Mehen,’ ‘even the best thieves get hurt’ and then shows off a scar.” Mehen rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt, so you have to pay attention—”

“I do pay attention. I’ve proven again and again I’m a competent thief—”

“It’s not just about being good! It’s also luck, and you need to be robbing tombs with me for the rest of our lives, so nothing better ever happen to you—”

“Forgive me.” Rishid bowed. 

“You’re not even the one _arguing_ with me— _he is_.” Bakura gestured toward Mehen. 

“Excuse me, but that’s exactly what _I_ should be saying to _you_.” Mehen snorted. 

“We thought you were kidnapped, Mehen. I was sure this thief was corrupting you, but I see now this was your choice, and you’re happy here.” Rishid shook his head. 

“Yeah.” Mehen sighed, the tension in his shoulders from his and Bakura’s argument deflated. “Even when we sleep on the sand with a single blanket I’m happier than I ever was at home.” 

“I do not approve of the career you’ve chosen, but I suppose an assassin cannot judge a thief.” Rishid stood. “I’m going to tell father you’re dead. Then you’ll be free to live the life you choose.”

“I...understand.” Mehen frowned. 

“Don’t worry.” Rishid lifted his arm and whistled for Nephthys to perch. “I’ll make sure Isis doesn’t grieve.” 

“Thank you, Rishid.” 

Mehen pushed himself up, slowly, still woozy from the poison. He removed his earrings and dropped them into Rishid’s hand. 

“Here. To prove you found me.” 

“Yes.” Rishid nodded. “These should be all the evidence I need.” 

“Uh...you want to stay for the feast? It’s technically our wedding night and Mehen wanted his family present.” Bakura handed Rishid his knives and then washed and bandaged his bleeding arm. 

“I think this is a celebration better left for the two of you. If you excuse me.” 

“Wait!” Mehen roped his arms around Rishid. “I’ll probably never see you again.” 

“I know, but it’s okay, because I think this life is better for you than the one our father planned.” 

“Thank you, for understanding.” Mehen sniffed. 

“I love you, Mehen.” Rishid patted the back of his little brother’s head before pulling back. 

“I love you too. Will you tell the same to Isis? I love you both.” 

“Of course I will. May you both live a long and happy life.” Rishid left the cave. 

***

Rishid rode back to the inn and spent three nights with Renenet. Seeing his brother shoot tender side glances at his lover, even as they argued, made Rishid ache for a life where, he too, may be able to choose his own joys instead of being bound to the will of their father. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

He was not charged for the room. 

They spoke the entire first night. Renenet was forced to work in the inn to take care of her sick mother as her father gambled and drank their money away. Rishid offered to ease the burden for her; she accepted. After the deed was over he cut off the man’s hand and wrapped it in a sack. Another present for his own father to go with Mehen’s earrings. 

On the third morning, he left Nephthys with Renenet, so she could send a message to him. He did not expect to stay at home long after his brother’s funeral. The ride to the manor was long, and thoughtful. Rishid would have to break his sister’s heart in order to convince their father of Mehen’s death. He only prayed that telling her the truth afterward would mend her pain. 

Rishid didn’t bathe before marching into the manor that was never really a home to Rishid or his siblings. Just a place they were expected to stay at in order to best serve their father. He was eating supper, plates piled with roasted fowl, cheese, pomegranates, delicacies afforded by only the wealthiest while others struggled to have enough bread left over to brew beer. The poor villages Mehen brought supplies to flashed through Rishid’s mind, and he could not bring himself to believe that Mehen’s heart wouldn’t balance on Ma’at’s scale when he finally was Weighed.

Rishid crashed to his knees, squeezing the earrings in his fist so tightly that they pierced the skin. Rishid wailed. It was not hard to scream in grief. It was the sound he often wanted to make. When his mother died. When he was forced to train as an assassin despite not wanting to hurt anyone. When he saw how the noble life was slowly draining the joy from his brother’s soul. So he wailed, and wept, and ripped his robes in grief and shoved the earrings into his father’s hand. 

Isis closed her eyes, statue-still though the tears poured down her cheeks. Her small, quiet sobs were more heartbreaking than Rishid’s grand display, but he couldn’t comfort her yet. 

“Where is the thief?” Their father asked, his face a stone mask. 

Rishid laid the bloody sack at his father’s feet. His father grinned when he saw the hand decorated in golden rings. He nodded in grim satisfaction and dismissed Rishid. Isis excused herself as well, to grieve in private. Rishid followed her to her room. 

“Isis?” He said before she shut her bedroom door. 

“I know you tried your best to save him.” Her voice was raw. 

“Isis, listen because this is not safe enough to say twice. Father’s heir is dead, but our brother is alive.” 

“What?” Her breath hitched in her throat. She studied Rishid with blood-shot eyes. 

“Remember when you caught him sneaking out as a child?” 

“Yeah.” Isis smiled, sniffing away tears. 

“He made a friend, all those years ago, and now they’re married.” 

“He eloped?” Isis stepped closer, her whisper barely a breath leaving her lips so no servants overheard them. 

“Yes, and he finally has the happiness he deserves.” Rishid hugged Isis. “He sends his love. His love for his siblings and knowing he won’t see them again is his only regret.” 

“Maybe...one day…” Isis shook her head. “But we shouldn’t speak of that. Thank you, Rishid, for consoling me about our brother’s death. If you excuse me, I’d like to grieve in private.” 

“Of course sister.” Rishid bowed and walked to the baths so he could wash the travel dust from himself. 

Maybe one day?

It was true. The only thing keeping them from visiting Mehen was their father.

And if he were to die? 

Without an heir, his position would be appointed to another family. 

And Rishid and Isis would be free to fend for themselves. 

And Rishid had many poisons. 

***

“What a way to crash a wedding.” Bakura laughed.

“How’s your arm?” Mehen helped clean and bandage Bakura’s wound, and Bakura did the same for Mehen’s hand. 

“This is nothing. Don’t worry.” 

“I guess you’re right. No matter how prepared we are for danger, it can happen at any moment.” Mehen rested his hand on Bakura’s shoulders and pressed their foreheads together. 

“Quick thinking on your part to save me. What would you have done had he only carried one antidote?” 

“My brother is cautious and plans for multiple scenarios. It never crossed my mind that he wouldn’t be prepared.” Mehen shrugged. “But had he been out...I supposed I would have died, flummoxed at my poor luck.” 

“You’re so reckless.” Bakura snorted. 

“Of course. I would have never ran off with you otherwise.” Mehen smirked. 

“You look...incredible.” Bakura toyed with some of the gold chains curving Mehen’s hips. 

“I know.” He shifted into Bakura’s touch. 

“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t let the food go to waste.” Bakura nudged his head toward one of the sacks he’d dropped before the battle. 

“Get everything ready while I tidy up.” 

Mehen repositioned the cushions and fluffed them as Bakura arranged bread, cheese, nuts, and fruits in a basket. He had decent wine—the best the town had to offer—and sat in front in Mehen, popping a pomegranate seed into his mouth. Mehen sucked the fruit from Bakura’s fingers, smiling. 

“Seriously, you look _really really_ good.” Bakura spoke with a breathless voice. 

“Careful, or we won’t make it through dinner.” 

“We'd better. This fruit was expensive.” Bakura popped a grape into Mehen’s mouth. 

Mehen fed Bakura in return. They shared the wine, and Bakura told Mehen stories of close calls from his past adventures. He slipped the ruined robe off his shoulders to display each matching scar. They continued talking long after the food and wine vanished. Mehen’s touch began to linger on Bakura’s body. His voice trailed off, their gazes locked, and they sank into each other. 

Pressing their lips together, Mehen and Bakura’s hands gripped and petted each other’s bodies. Mehen tore Bakura’s shendyt away from his waist, but Bakura left in place all the gold Mehen wore. Bakura pulled Mehen into his lap and stroked his thigh. Mehen whimpered, pulling at Bakura’s hair. When they were both breathless, Bakura dropped to Mehen’s neck. He kissed around the gold and jewels while his hand fumbled for the oil bottle stashed beneath one of the cushions. Mehen’s chest hitched as Bakura slipped a well-oiled finger into Mehen’s body. 

Bakura’s fingers were nimble. He added a second and hooked them. Mehen’s desperate, low grunts filled the cavern. When he was ready, he pulled Bakura’s hand away and fully straddled Bakura’s lap. Mehen grabbed Bakura’s cock, holding firmly. Bakura tossed his head backward. His eyes shut as Mehen’s grip sent a shudder through his entire body. Lining himself with Bakura’s cockhead, Mehen eased down. 

“Gods,” Bakura moaned as soon as Mehen’s heat began to squeeze him. 

With a wanton sigh, Mehen sank, sheathing Bakura fully into his body. His muscles clenched; Bakura gasped. Mehen held the thief’s shoulders for balance as he eased up and dropped low. The lamplight caught Mehen’s treasure as he moved. He glittered from head to ankle, gold, and turquoise, malachite, and amethysts. Bakura bit Mehen’s nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue. Mehen cooed, circling his hips faster. 

“Gods,” Bakura repeated, other worlds forgotten as existence become sensation and breath. Language, rules, all of Ma’at’s treasured order dissolved as their heat, sweat, moans, and pants re-created existence. 

“Bakura,” Mehen moaned in his ear. 

Bakura's belly quivered in excitement at the sound of his name. His fingers dug into Mehen’s hips, bucking as Mehen plunged. Mehen’s voice deepened, growing rich and colorful. His cries were as warm and gorgeous as the jewels on his body. His hair was more gold dripping from him, a treasure to admire. Bakura roped his fingers through that gold and pulled Mehen closer for a quick, sloppy kiss. Mehen rode Bakura so hard that the kiss couldn’t last, and instead Bakura huffed against Mehen’s shoulder as his pleasure climbed. 

“Gods...gods...Mehen! Mehen!” 

“That’s right.” Mehen hummed. “Touch me. I want to come.” 

Bakura kneaded his lips across Mehen’s collarbone as he wrapped his fingers around Mehen’s shaft. His flesh was hot against Bakura’s palm. Hand slick with oil, Bakura glided up and down. Mehen lost his rhythm, slowing down, only bobbing in Bakura’s lap as he focused on thrusting into Bakura’s fist more than riding Bakura’s cock. 

“Bakura!” Mehen cried. “Ba-kurh—”

Mehen arched and tensed. He dropped as low on Bakura’s shaft as he could and clung to Bakura as his body shuddered and his cock sputtered in release. Mehen melted into Bakura’s arms, curling against him. Bakura eased Mehen onto his back and kissed along his jawline. He moved at an easy gait, enjoying how close they were and the way Mehen gripped him in a relaxed embrace. Their breaths echoed in each other’s ears. Mehen cupped Bakura’s face, gazing into his eyes. Pleasure stabbed through Bakura at the gesture. He stared as long as he could manage, but he felt too good and his eyes fluttered closed. Bakura pushed deep, savoring Mehen’s heat. Each thrust became more intense until his face wrinkled in orgsm. He poured into Mehen and when nothing was left, he crashed into Mehen’s arms. 

“I love you,” Mehen whispered into Bakura’s hair. 

“I love you too.” Bakura grinned, teasing the gold around Mehen’s arms. 

“I still can’t believe, after all these years, I was rescued from my home and stolen away by my best friend.” 

Bakura held Mehen’s face and pressed their noses together. “What sort of friend or thief would I have been? Had I not grabbed my most precious treasure and carried you away with me?” 


End file.
